


To Slash or Not to Slash

by HungLikeARainbro



Series: To Slash or Not to Slash [1]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungLikeARainbro/pseuds/HungLikeARainbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer wants Lister to pretend to be his friend, but his mother mistakes them for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All By Myself

**Author's Note:**

> I am moving my old fanfiction from FF.net to AO3 and will be creating new work soon. This was originally uploaded 28/10/2005.
> 
> Basic plot; Rimmer and Lister have already met as in the book series (not the TV series) when Lister gives Rimmer (disguised as Todhunter) a lift to an androidbrothel. Lister pretends to be Rimmer's friend in order to grab free booze but Rimmer's mother mistakes them for partners.
> 
> Author notes; This was really a fic exploring Rimmer's past and family. They're rather animated people with their own personalities which I hope comes through. This has mostly stemmed out of my own hatred for my family. In a way, I'm Rimmer, my father is John and my mother is Mrs Rimmer, my eldest sister is Mr Rimmer and my other sister is Frank, but the similarities aren't great. On another subject - strokes aren't really funny. But Mr Rimmer was just a great laugh to write.

There is something about receiving a letter that makes you feel special. Privileged to have received a piece of paper from another human being. When you're young, you don't care if it's a bank statement or a 'Beano' subscription offer. It's a very grown-up thing to receive a letter.

As you grow older, you lose some of the enthusiasm, especially if you recognise the handwriting as being your Aunt June's, who likes to write and tell you not to panic - she finally passed that kidney stone and what a whopper it was too, and that it has been put in the envelope along with the doctor's confirmation that it was indeed "a whopper" by medical standards. 

Rimmer turned the letter he had received that morning about in his hands. It was from his mother definitely.

Which worried him. She only wrote if there was important - and most likely bad - news.

She had used the good stationary to write upon; the one with slightly yellowed and textured paper and matching envelope with golden gilding. He ran his fingernail worriedly along the folded edge. He might as well get it over and done with. He tore the corner. He smoothed the corner back down. He peeled it back, and folded it down again.

Whatever the letter was about it couldn't be that important, surely? His mother would have called him personally. No, your mother avoids you as much as she humanly can, he reminded himself. He opened the letter. There now, he told himself, that wasn't so difficult. He unfolded the crisp paper and began to read:

_Dear Arnold,_

_We heard you were around Jupiter this week. Come by for the weekend - your brothers are stopping by as well and we'd love to hear how you're doing. We've got some good news to share with you all. Bring a guest if you like._

_Mother_

Arnold, not Rimmer? Love to hear from me? Mother, not mater? Disturbingly affectionate of her, he scoffed. Oh, I'm sure my brothers will all have a great laugh when they see me arrive all alone and with no change to my rank on ship. 1,067 people and no one will even share a room with me, that's how popular I am.

Just as he was thinking this, Todhunter knocked on the wall beside his doorway and informed Rimmer that all the rooms on ship were full and that he would have to share with the new third technician. "Wonderful," said Rimmer. "Nice chap?"

"Oh definitely."

"So I'll get on with him, then?"

"Heavens no," he replied with a grin. "David Lister, this is Arnold Rimmer. Have fun!" He pushed a bedraggled, young man into the room. Rimmer stared at him for a short while trying to place his face. He recognised him somehow. Oh no...

"Alright there, _Todhunter_? I must say that restaurant you recommended was great. Shaved your 'tache?"

"You little smeg! How on Io did you get a job here?"

"Same way you did. I applied and no one else wanted the job so they give it me."

"Gave it to me," Rimmer sniffed. "England gave you a language, kindly use it." Lister rolled his eyes and threw his boots onto the bottom bunk. Rimmer sniffed again. "That's my bunk. You sleep up top."

"Yessir!" Lister saluted mockingly, giving twelve full circles of his hand. He removed the offending footwear and threw them onto the top bunk. "Where's the bar? I'm dead thirsty."

Rimmer shook his head in disbelief. "It's 11 o'clock in the morning. The bar doesn't open for hours."

"Bloody hell, where do I get alcohol from then?"

"You don't. Not until 1700 hours." Lister counted the time on his fingers. Five o'clock. That certainly put a damper on his afternoon plans. He sat down on the metal chair and began to tune his guitar (what he thought was tuning, but was actually un-tuning) and strummed softly.

"What is that ghastly sound?"

"Me guitar. I used to be a famous musician in Liverpool."

"Famous as in...?"

"Well, I know at least me ex-girlfriend bought our CD. Actually, I bought the CD for her and she dumped me a week later, but we did technically sell one CD."

Rimmer rolled his eyes and reread his letter. Bring a guest, his mother said, hoping he might have finally found a friend. That was a joke. He decided he would grab the next shuttle to Io and get the humiliation over and done with.

His brothers would be there too. John, no doubt with a girl hanging from each arm; Frank with his gorgeous French wife; and Howard the sensible one who didn't waste his time with girlfriends and just had strings of one night stands.

Bastard.

He, Arnold - who had less sex with women than an asexual all alone on a desert island - would once again be the subject of continuous taunts and virginity jokes. Fortunately they didn't know how right they were and that he really was a virgin. He didn't even like to admit it inside his own head.

"His name was Rimmer, he was a smeghead," Lister warbled to the tune of 'Copa Cabana', "with sticky-out big lugs and a really ugly mug." He dodged the ball of paper Rimmer threw at him.

"Be useful and put that in the bin."

Lister opened it up and read Mrs Rimmer's letter. "Not going to see your family?"

"Ha."

"That's a no, then?"

"Ha, again. And don't read my mail, it's very impolite."

Lister caressed the paper thoughtfully. It was good quality stuff. "Are you, er... I mean, is your family well off?"

"Why?"

"Nothin', nothin'. Any good pubs on Io?"

"What are you suggesting?"

Lister closed the door and gave Rimmer back his letter. "I'm guessing you're not exactly Mr Popular on the ship. And I think you don't want to go home coz you've got no mates to bring with you."

"Not at all. I don't want to go home because my family are gimps." 

"Shame really, I'd have loved to check out the pubs on Io. Go on a total bender - brilliant!"

"There aren't any pubs. Just bars."

"Bar crawl, pub crawl: makes no difference so long as there's booze. But I can't afford to get a shuttle down there."

"And yet you can afford to drink enough alcohol to poison an elephant, I'll wager."

Lister shrugged, "Guess you're right. Compared to me even the smeggiest of smegs would seem like the perfect bloke."

Rimmer hit upon an idea. If he could persuade this arse of a man to pretend to be his friend and show him to his parents then they would realise that Rimmer was by far the better person. They'd praise the day the angels bestowed him and not Lister upon them. All he had to do was dip into his savings and pay for a return shuttle ticket.

"Tell you what Lister, I'll give you a personal tour of Io's finest bars if you'll do me the teensiest of favours."

"What's that?"

"Meet my parents tomorrow. Oh and, be yourself."


	2. Relax

Rimmer exhaled sharply when the surprisingly bony elbow belonging to his chubby compadre jabbed into his chest as the crowded and long, round-ended shuttle lurched forward out of its launch pod and shot across the inky sky towards Io. Lister moved his arm as best he could but soon found that if he moved it too far forward, he was in danger of losing his hand between the folds and rolls of a large woman in front of him.

Rimmer felt a hand rummaging about near his thigh and considered this to be a lucky day until he felt a large Casio diver's watch brush up against his rear and realised that this culprit was most likely a man. He shuffled forward for safety, reluctantly pressing closer to Lister.

And so, at quarter to twelve or to be more exact - 11:45am, the shuttle slid into its port, giving a couple of teenagers watching a few chuckles over the innuendo involved in such a creation. The joke didn't escape Lister’s mind either, but he felt compelled to act slightly more grown-up around Rimmer in case he changed his mind and took the return ticket with him.

"Now Lister," Rimmer began his brief lesson in the 411 of Rimmer World, "my father has had a couple of strokes the past year or so, so he'll appear a little deranged and nonsensical."

"How many strokes have you had?"

"Shut up. My mother is a very prim and proud woman, so DON'T - and I insist on repeating myself - DON'T make a total twat of yourself. I also have three brothers - I'm the youngest. They won't suffer fools either so behave yourself if you can."

"Can I do anythin' at all?"

"No, not really." Rimmer was beginning to worry. He wanted Lister to make him look good but, as he watched Lister remove some wax from his ear canal with a twig he found on the ground, he feared that Lister would show him up entirely.

"How could you bring that into our home?!" his mother would shriek.

"Is that the only friend you could get?" his brothers would scoff.

"Where's my Nao figurine of a lion's phallus?" his father would yell before swilling down a bottle of rum to curb his growing dementia.

Rimmer was pitiful. Perhaps he should have lent Lister some clothes. He had made a slight effort with his black camouflage trousers and Doc Marten boots with various scuffs and holes. And his t-shirt had only three curry stains and one small hole under the armpit, which Lister was making bigger by the second as he plucked loose threads from it.

"It looks untidy if you let them hang there!" he explained when Rimmer gave him another withering glance as they approached his house. Lister whistled through his teeth in admiration. "Swanky! I'd never have guessed you live here. D'ya have a butler called Jeeves and a pony called Merrylegs?"

"Smeg off. Just keep quiet and let me do the talking."

"It's just your parents. We're not infiltrating the Mafia, numb-nuts."

"You've no idea," Rimmer sighed and buzzed himself in. Lister looked around at the huge, beautiful, exotic plants which climbed up the sides of the glass dome and descended again at the middle as they drooped with their own weight. "What's that?" said Lister and pointed to a large tree with a rope hanging from one large branch. "Did you and your brothers make a rope swing?"

"No, they used to play 'Hangman' with me. Without pencils or paper." Lister said nothing but made a mental note to refrain any offers to play 'Monopoly' or 'Cluedo'.  
Rimmer walked straight through the front door and stood to attention in the hall and waited patiently for something. Lister sauntered past and wandered around the hallway. Large stairs went from the left side and wound round again towards the second floor and two doors on either side of the hall before the stairs led on to what appeared to be a lounge and a dining room. Further down the hall was the kitchen, a lavatory and a closet for coats and things. Lister whistled again and Rimmer glared at him.

"Anthony?" A thin yet pot-bellied, shaking man wheeled out of the lounge in a shoddy wheelchair and rolled to a stop next to Rimmer. "I thought I smelled cheap, ship-issued cologne. What do you want?"

"Sir. I'm here in reply to mother's letter, sir." Rimmer saluted.

"Well at least you're punctual, Andrew. Have you..." he sniffed, "have you eaten an Indian-style cuisine of some kind recently?"

Lister grinned and said, "That'd be me."

Mr Rimmer stared at him. "What on Io is that?"

"A friend, sir."

"Well get rid of it, before the meerkats smell it. They can smell a lamb vindaloo from 100 paces." And with that he rolled off into the dining room. Rimmer motioned Lister to come closer and explained quietly that Mr Rimmer thought the Taliban had sent specially trained ninja meerkats to spy on him. "He wasn't even alive during the Third World War! And he doesn't get anyone's name right, not even my mother's."

They jumped as there came a sudden smashing of glass against plaster and a rattled, but still kempt lady scuttled out of the dining room and briskly closed the doors before smoothing down her floral-patterned dress. "Ah Arnold, had to be you. John never upsets your father as much as you do when he arrives."

"He's not here yet?"

"No, not just yet. Erm..." she paused as her eyes finally travelled from Rimmer to Lister. "And this is...?" Lister rubbed his greasy hand on his shirt and held it out for a shake. Mrs Rimmer took it warily and grimaced. "Enshantie, Mrs Rimmer. Rimmer's told me nothin' about you so your rep' is totally unsoiled. Things can only go downhill from here." She laughed uncertainly and rescued her hand as quickly as she could.

"This is David Lister, mother. He lives with me on the ship."

"Oh," said his mother.

"Yeah we really hit it off, didn't we Arn ? Best bloke in the world this, and I've been to more than one world I can tell yer," Lister chortled and punched Rimmer's arm.

"Alright, alright," Rimmer hissed into his ear, "don't sugar-coat it."

"Sugar-coat?" Lister whispered back. "Man, I'm going to caramelise you if it gets me free alcohol."

"FREE?!" Rimmer spluttered and smiled nervously at his mother who was eying their whisperings with guarded intrigue. Suddenly she made a face like a scientist who had just found a solid link which proved that increasing chocolate and beer intake made subjects less susceptible to cancer of all types, and that the answer had been written upon his tie the entire duration of his career. She smiled at Lister and immediately invited him to stay for lunch. Lister couldn't refuse an offer like that.

***

Lister ducked as Frank's arm shot out a third time to whack John over the head. "Bring up Sophie McIndoe one more time and I'll have you!" Across from Lister, Rimmer shrugged his shoulders at him in a small display of shame. Lister didn't care. It was fantastic for him to see a real family at a real family dinner, squabbles and all.

It was odd, looking at Rimmer's brothers. They were obviously all related to him and yet they were, to be frank, incredibly good-looking. John was the eldest and most easy-going. His long hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, though it was making a valiant effort to wrench itself free. Lister took a shine to him right away. Frank was the second brother and he was glowing with new-love. His hair was regimented and short and his blue eyes had a way of misting over now and again. It was obvious that he was thinking of his wife at these times. Lastly was Howard. Quieter than the other two and with average wavy hair: but this in no way diminished his features. If anything, Lister would have said he was the most handsome, if he was ever the judge of such things. 

Rimmer looked like them, and yet didn't. His hair was mousy and curled. His eyes were murky. He shared a nose with them, but their nostrils were perfectly normal. Rimmer's could have swallowed the population of China. When they smiled, they smiled. When Rimmer smiled, it was a pained expression as if he'd sat on a sharpened pine cone. The three brothers oozed confidence; the fourth oozed cowardice. Lister secretly wondered if Mrs Rimmer had been taking something during her last pregnancy.

His attention was brought back to the table by Frank's booming voice. Presently, John had made it his mission that evening to talk about the first (of many) women that Frank had proposed to before settling down with Janine. Frank had stupidly mentioned that his wife had thrown a wobbly earlier that day when she discovered that he still kept his little black book. "And who doesn't?" he protested loudly. "Dad, you still have yours, right?"

"Well?" said Mrs Rimmer sternly.

Mr Rimmer placed his fork neatly next to his plate. "Now Frederick, you know I would never keep a little black book."

"Good," said Mrs Rimmer.

"Mine's blue." He cackled loudly and shrunk in his wheelchair slightly as Mrs Rimmer's eyes narrowed. Lister choked on his mouthful of salad (with madras sauce) with laughter.

"Arnold, clean your father's beard for him. He has food in it."

"He still has one arm working, mother," Rimmer sulked.

"I need it to hold my wine, you ungrateful little starfish." Howard did it instead, leaving Rimmer looking even more of a tool than he already did. "Ignore dad," said Howard. "He's been getting even stranger lately."

"I know," said Frank. "I mean - red wine with salad? Pottier than a snooker player he is now." Mr Rimmer didn't seem to hear them as he ran his tongue around his glass, lapping up the leftover wine. He realised there was still half a bottle left on the table and stole it with remarkable swiftness. Before Mrs Rimmer could protest he had already wrapped his cracked, slobbering lips over the rim. "Well, there goes the Bordeaux."

"S'alright, Mrs Rim. Me an' Rimmer are going to a few bars later anyway."

"Oh?" said Mrs Rimmer. "What kind of bars?"

"Anywhere that'll let us in."

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that, David. They're quite tolerant around here." Lister wasn't sure what she meant by that, but smiled anyway.

"Actually, Lister, I was planning on getting an early night. You can drink tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh c'mon, I won't disturb any of yer when I come in. Just show me where I'm sleepin' an' I'll be fine. Just lock your wardrobes in case I need a late night slash."

Rimmer wrinkled his nose. "I'm not having it, Lister. You'll go out, get completely sozzled and grab the first person you see for a quickie in the loos and drag them back here for a slightly longer quickie." The table fell silent apart from the bubbling sucking coming from Mr Rimmer and his wine bottle. Howard picked at a radish on his almost bare plate. "Sorry," said Rimmer. "I just think that you should pace yourself. You won't be young forever."

"I know, and I'll be good. I'm not a total drunkard. Well, not unless I have the money. 'Sides, I have all day tomorrow to get really drunk."

"You could stay the whole weekend. We'd like to get to know you better, David. It's the first time Arnold has brought someone home to meet us." There it was again. That strange tone of voice and phrasing of words that Lister was suddenly wary of.

"Well I don't know about Howie, but I was going to bring someone mum, but I was worried that if I took Beth then her flatmate would tell Sharon that I had taken her instead of her and if I took Sharon then Beth would have flipped and gone out with Mark from catering just to spite me."

"And Janine and I had a fight, as you know," said Frank, giving John a whack across the head before he could mention Sophie McIndoe.

"Well I'm glad one of you brought someone. We were becoming rather worried about you, Arnold. We thought you'd never find someone nice." More strange words and phrases that made Lister's, and now Rimmer's, blood run cold.

"How do you mean?"

"Well he's never had a girlfriend before, or shown any real interest in getting one since he was 15. We're not stupid. It was only a matter of time before he came out." Rimmer's fork dropped to the floor as he fell backwards in his chair and slammed against the floor making strangled squealing sounds as he desperately tried to cough up a portion of chicken which had gone down the wrong tube. Lister simply stared at Mr Rimmer, who had finished his wine and was currently trying to make a ship in a bottle using sliced cucumber as lifeboats and celery for masts.


	3. Aladdin Sane

"They think I'm gay," wailed Rimmer from inside the cupboard under the stairs. He wiped his nose on Frank's coat in vengeance. Lister's fist thumped on the door. "Hey, smeghead, they think WE'RE gay. I'm in the same boat as you."

"A boat, yes. Except there's no tit on our Titanic. Just a poop deck."

"I mean, I could do better than Rimmer if I were gay, surely?" Lister muttered to no-one in particular.

"Shut up Lister! We have to go explain to them that we're not... that we're not... that we're NOT."

Lister opened the door and sat on the floor outside opposite Rimmer. "Well... you know... it made yer mum happy."

Rimmer sat up and looked around wildly like a paranoid rabbit with myxomatosis in a house haunted by foxes. "What are you suggesting? Are you suggesting we go along with it? But that's disgusting!"

"Look, I'm gonna make a proposal..."

"Great, why don't we adopt a couple of Romanian babies after the marriage?"

Lister sighed and wondered why he didn't just wait until five o'clock for alcohol. "That's not what I meant. Look, yer mum said, after you ran screaming like a little girl from the room, that she was so happy when Frank settled down. She really wanted you all to find decent women and start families, but she was worried about you. That no woman would be daft enough."

"Thanks, mother."

"Anyway, if you’re gay then there's no worry about it, eh? She was going to discuss yer dad's will this weekend. That's why you all got invited over. You only get any money if you need it to raise a family. If you’re gay then you just automatically get it!"

"What if I'm gay and want a family? No, stop. I don't want to think about it because I'm not gay!" Rimmer buried himself beneath a few more layers of coats behind the vacuum cleaner.

"No, listen. What if the night before we go back to the Dwarf we have a fight? Really play it up. A huge fight that leaves you devastated and put off men for life. You turn back straight and everyone's happy." 

Lister waited patiently until Rimmer finally swam out from behind the coats and jackets and asked shyly, "Why are you helping me anyway?"

Lister shrugged. "I just really, really, REALLY want some beer."

***

"I always knew he was a bit of a left-footer."

"John, shush! He may be able to hear you." Mrs Rimmer paced in front of the doors considering the unlikely position she was in. Her youngest son, the most wretched and despised creature to ever escape her ovarian Bastille had decided to come out to her and the rest of the family. It was crazy, it was outlandish, but it had taken a lot of courage.

And that was something she'd never expected from Arnold. Even Frank had cowered before his parents’ wrath when he announced his engagement to Janine, because she was foreign. Mrs Rimmer was feeling a stirring of respect for Arnold. Of course, she had always loved him in a way, no one could doubt that. He'd have to do something really horrendous like murder a baby or vote Conservative before she lost what little maternal instinct she had towards him.

Okay, so he was gay. Not exactly her choice of lifestyle for him but as she had said to Lister before, what woman would be daft enough? And she had no need to worry about the family line for she had more sons to take care of that. What worried her was other people's reactions, especially the rest of the family. John, Frank and Howard all seemed highly uncomfortable by the situation. Her husband just seemed highly drunk. "What's going on, Elizabeth?"

"Arnold is a homosexual, dear, and my name isn't Elizabeth." 

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"Well you look a lot like her."

"Now boys," Mrs Rimmer ignored him and addressed her nervous sons, "Dr Phipps from the family psychiatric course that the Space Corps. insisted we take after your father's attempted suicide and the time warp incident (Howard looked guiltily at the floor), says we should work on family harmony. So we are going to accept Arnold as being gay and you're all going to march back to the table and be civil to him and his life-partner."

"Why should we? He totally fucked up our last session by telling us all about John's phobia of handkerchiefs."

"I'm not afraid of handkerchiefs! I'm afraid of _other people's_ handkerchiefs and what's in them."

"Too right my lad. I saw my own death in a handkerchief once. It was gruesome."

"Really, dad?"

"Yes... it was monogrammed and was pink with yellow flowers. Ugh!"

"Why didn't I marry Lucian Osbourne when I had the chance," Mrs Rimmer sighed wistfully. "So what if he had a gun injury from when he was younger that caused him to dribble on the letter 's', it couldn't have been worse than this."

"Did you say something, Elsa?"

"No, dear. Alright, let's go back into the dining room and let the little ponce know that we love him."

***

"Ground rules," said Rimmer just before going back into the dining room. "One - NO kissing."

"Goes without sayin'."

"In fact, no touching of any kind."

"Won't that look suspicious?"

Rimmer's hand poised above the door handle. "Not really. My family's not the intimate type. In fact I don't know how we were all even conceived. But I'm fairly sure it involved a meat baster and a swimsuit calendar."

"Should we use first names?"

"Why?" 

Lister scratched his neck uncomfortably, "I dunno... if we're gay then Rimmer sounds kind of like a pet-name."

"Ugh... point taken. Right, Dave then."

"Arnie then."

"Good."

"Good." Lister pushed open the doors and sat back down at the table. He quickly espied the dessert. "Ooh apple strudel. One of me fav's." Rimmer smiled wryly and ate his slowly, aware of his brothers eyes watching his every spoonful of pastry and custard. Apples had never tasted so bitter. Lister seemed blissfully unconcerned and he scoffed his dessert in two minutes flat. "My, what a healthy appetite," said Mrs Rimmer. 

"Ha, that's nothing, you should've seen what he ate this morning." Rimmer tried to close his mouth to stop the words but they kept tumbling out. Frank put his fork down and announced he wasn't hungry anymore.

"He meant my Bombay chicken marathon. Honest to Bexley I ate an entire battery farm of chickens."

Mr Rimmer pointed a quivering finger at Lister and gasped, "I served in Bombay, y'know. Nice place, but too many trees. Trees can tell the future you know. They kept telling me mine. SHUT THE HELL UP, I said, but they kept on and on about it. You'll die in a road accident, they whispered. Well, hasn't happened so far but I tell you I won't get in a car with a woman driver just in case. Mark my words laddie, death by chicken is a choice not a right. And I've died from it before. Saw a tunnel and everything. I went on a chat show about it. That Barry Clinger guy. Got into a fight with a Mormon. Nice man but off his trolley. Now the Jehovah's witness - he was completely insane. Insisted that turkeys were children of the devil. I told him I died from chickens not turkeys..."

Mrs Rimmer sighed, "Dear?"

"Yes?"

"Stop rambling." 

Mr Rimmer stopped rambling and began to twitter on instead, "Pheasants are alright, but beware the ides of geese."

***

Although the subject was never brought up, Lister was expected to sleep in Rimmer's room. The only guest room in the house had been turned into a relaxation sanctuary for Mr Rimmer and he spent countless nights curled up on the floor in of the room listening to whale songs and insisting that if you played the CD backwards you could hear the whales calling out for a guy named Ishmael.

So when dinner came and went and everyone began to slowly filter off to bed, Rimmer began to realise with throat-tightening fright that Lister was going to have to sleep with him. As the youngest and most disliked, he was left with the smallest room and there was only just enough room for his bed, a desk and a wardrobe. And even that was a squeeze. Lister seemed unperturbed by this and jumped straight onto Rimmer's bed. "So nice of you to offer me your bed, Rimsy."

"You're on the floor, me old mucker." 

Lister peeked over the edge of the bed, "What floor? There's barely room for a dog." 

"Suits you just fine then."

"I have a bad back."

"I'm not giving up my own bed, Lister." Half an hour later they were both in the bed and fighting over the quilt. "I'm cold," Rimmer growled.

"I'm colder."

Rimmer yanked the quilt back, "Who paid for the quilt?" Lister gave up and hugged his legs for warmth. "And stop chattering your teeth."

"I wouldn't have chattering teeth if you'd gimme the smegging blanket." But Rimmer had already fallen asleep.


	4. whY Me CA

It was fortunate that Lister awoke first, because if Rimmer had, he would have hit the roof. Lister's subconscious search for warmth during sleep had led him to snuggle up against Rimmer and Rimmer bizarrely had snuggled back, most likely from loneliness. He hadn't shared a bed with someone since he was a boy and even that was his Uncle Frank. So when Lister awakened he found his nose buried into Rimmer's chest and Rimmer's arm draped over his side, their legs entwined. Lister, not one to be bothered by such things, stole the blanket from Rimmer and rolled over.

"Hnnmmgh?" Rimmer mumbled at the icy blast of air against his neck and arm. "You bastard!"

Lister grinned and pretended to be fast asleep by snoring loudly. Rimmer tugged at the quilt. Lister's grip tightened and suddenly he released the quilt, sending Rimmer flying and he landed with a short and sharp thud on what little floor space there was. "Heheheheh," Lister's cheeky gerbil-face appeared from beneath the blanket.

"GIVE IT TO ME, LISTER!" Rimmer yelled and dived up at him.

"Ahem," Howard coughed as he stared at them from the doorway.

"I erm... well it's not what it... we were... um... haven't you heard of knocking?" Rimmer said finally, untangling himself from Lister and the sheets.

"Haven't you heard of restraint?"

"What do you want anyway?" Rimmer snapped, shuffling as far away on the bed from Lister as possible. Howard smiled thoughtfully. "Breakfast is ready. I'm sure you're hungry."

"Hmph." When Howard had gone, Rimmer breathed a sigh of relief and rummaged through his drawers for some clothes. Lister reached for his shirt on the ground and was dressed in five seconds. "Rimmer, you're not very nice to your brothers. He was just giving you a wakeup call."

"You're the one who needs a wake-up call, Lister. They're monsters, okay? You just don't understand what it's like. They teased me constantly as a child. You go to sleep with the horrors of the day’s events and you wake up with them buried deep in your mind and for that first moment you're tranquil. But then you realise it's going to start all over again and... and you dread it."

"Yeah must be pretty shitty to wake up with a roof over your head and breakfast waiting for you. Hell, even."

"Just go to breakfast. I'll be out in a minute."

"Where're you going?"

"For a shower, Lister, that's what normal, clean people do in the mornings." Lister watched Rimmer storm off down the hall and a thought entered his head. This being such a Nostradamus-style event, he acted upon it immediately and began to nose through Rimmer's wardrobe, chuckling to himself.

***

"You're late," Mrs Rimmer t'sked at her youngest son as he slinked into the dining room. "The toast has gone cold and the tea has stewed," she warned him. Rimmer wasn't listening. He'd gone an odd shade of puce because sat at the table in his favourite casual shirt and trousers, was someone who really shouldn't be sat at the table in his favourite casual shirt and trousers. "LISTER!!!"

"S'up," he mumbled, chewing voraciously on a piece of toast, getting butter all over Rimmer's shirt. "Is there any more vegemite, please Mrs Rimmer?"

"Such a polite young man! You wouldn't think he was from Earth, would you?" Mrs Rimmer exclaimed happily to her husband, who was far more concerned that his grapefruit was 'giving him evils'.

"Earth is as Earth does, Mrs Rimmer."

"LISTER!!!"

"Oh come on, Arnie. You can't expect me to wear the same clothes as yesterday. I'm just doing what _normal, clean people do_." Rimmer sat down, defeated and fuming. His brothers found it hilarious. "Wearing each others clothes! That's the bedrock of a good relationship."

"Aww, you'll be together forever. We can tell."

"Not if he were the last human alive," Rimmer hissed into his cup of cold, strong tea. Lister nudged him. "So when are we going to grab some booze? I'm dying here, man. I could've been drinking last night on the Dwarf, you know."

Rimmer flicked a piece of toast from the end of his nose. "Lister, don't speak with your mouth full."

"He's always saying that," Lister winked at Rimmer's brothers, who winced unhappily. 

Rimmer wailed into his clenched hands, "Oh God... why me?"

"God? Ha! The universe was created by hats. Why do you think there are so many? No one actually wears hats! They exist because they are existence itself!" They all stared at Mr Rimmer for a short while before continuing to consume their post-waking, pre-afternoon meal. Afterwards, Rimmer dragged Lister away for a severe reprimanding. "Get out of those clothes, now!"

"Babe, please! Wait until we get upstairs."

"You know Lister, I'm wondering if you're not enjoying this."

"It's just a lark, Rimmer. Don't take it to heart. It's not like anyone I know can see me."

" _I_ see you."

"Yeah, but your opinion doesn't matter."

"Thanks.(!)" Rimmer felt another headache coming on and rubbed his temples, mumbling a mantra.

"Alright, I'll tone it down a bit. Just trying to make it realistic. You don't want them to get suspicious, do you?"

***

"I'm suspicious," John said to Frank and Howard as they cleared the table. "That David Lister... he seems alright. Why would he go out with Bonehead?"

"If you ask me, I don't think he's gay at all. Look at his hair! And he obviously doesn't moisturise."

"Howie, you're the only bloke I know who does!" Howard flipped John off and handed him a stack of plates to take to the kitchen.

"So, let's say he's not gay. Why would he pretend to be?"

"Who knows, Frank. Maybe he owes Bonehead some money or something."

"Have to be a hell of a lot of moolah," John called out from the kitchen. "Maybe it's got something to do with alcohol. He's always asking for it, have you noticed? Oh, I know! He's an alcoholic and that's why he likes Bonehead. Like when Frank got so drunk he got off with Chantelle from Radar Division."

"Shut up!" 

"Guys, come on. Let's just go find out what the deal is by following them."

"Tonight?! What if they _are_ gay? I'm not going into a gay bar. If any of my colleagues spot me, my career is dead," Howard whined. John laughed kindly at his little brother. "Don't worry. I've got a cunning plan..."

***

"Rimmer, is that golf set in your room expensive?" Lister called from the top of the stairs. Rimmer admired his crisp shirt in the hall mirror. It wasn't often he went out to bars. If he ever did he went in alone, and went out alone. Far too depressing. Still, he had a proxy friend to chill with and even though Lister had all the charm of a monkey with leprosy, it looked as though he was in for a good night. "Rimmer?"

"What?"

"Do you like your golf clubs?"

"Yes. Why?" There was a loud metallic clanking followed by a yelp of pain. "No reason." Lister bounded down the stairs, hiding a U-shaped club behind his back.

"What did you do?!"

"Nuffin. But really, man. You'd think a 9 iron would be strong enough to use as a vaulting pole."

"Honestly! It's like babysitting for a Juvy. Are you still wearing my clothes?"

"Yeah, these are pretty stylish. Yer mum pick them out for you?" Rimmer scowled at Lister and moved out of the way so that Lister could check his reflection. "Yeah, I look dead good. Shame I can't pick anyone up. I bet you're the jealous type."

"Just don't get drunk and vomit on my shirt. And don't dance either. I don't want your sweat all over my clothes."

"You can wash them later when my boxers are done." 

Rimmer combed his unruly hair to one side and smiled unpleasantly, "You're washing your underwear? I'm impressed. Hang on... If your boxers are in the wash... Lister, if you're wearing my underwear I swear I'll-"

"Of course I'm not. I'm going commando. Oooh, hang on I forgot me hat." Lister ran over to the stairs. "I think I'll take these two at a time. No, actually, I'll see if I can stretch over three."

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Rimmer roared. Lister dived away from the golf club-wielding Rimmer and made for the safety of the kitchen. Rimmer raised the club above his head and was about to smash it over Lister's head when he caught his brother's conversation. "Bonehead? I'll get those bastards."

"Heh, don't worry man. _We'll_ get them."

"How?"

"We'll go to a gay bar. Don't look at me like that! We'll hang around until they get scared, then we'll get a few guys to hit on them. They'll bugger off quicker than a French guy at a castration clinic. Then we'll go to some proper clubs."

Rimmer grinned and to Lister's relief, he put the 9 iron away. "Lister, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."


	5. Gay Bar

"WELL AT LEAST THEY PLAY GOOD MUSIC HERE!"

"WHAT?" Lister bellowed over the thumping 1980's songs that played from the loudspeaker just a few feet from his ear. Rimmer repeated what he'd shouted.

"YEAH, BUT I WISH THEY'D PLAY SOME RASTA BILLY SKANK. NOW THAT'S A REAL 'CHOON'."

"THIS COMING FROM A GUY WHO THINKS WEIRD AL YANKOVIC IS A LYRICAL GENIUS." Rimmer could hardly stand the ludicrous volume of the music and staggered away to the bar for some peace and quiet. He found his brothers there, huddled together for safety. "Beer!" Lister called from behind him. The bartender overheard and motioned to the different kinds he could choose from and Lister stared at them all in sheer bliss. Rimmer stared at his wallet in distress. "You've cleaned me out already!"

"There's a cash machine outside the club. Hurry up, before I start to sober-ise." With a heavy heart and a light wallet, Rimmer made his way through the crowd towards the entrance. "So what're you three doing here?" Lister grinned at the frightened trio. 

"Just checking on our little brother. It's what families do."

"So mummy sent you?"

"No!" John snapped. "Anyway, we're confident in our masculinity not to be afraid of a gay bar."

"So what's with the t-shirts?" Lister grinned even more. Using a computer, a printer, some special printing paper and an iron, John had constructed a t-shirt which plainly read in large black Franklin Gothic font - 'STRAIGHT (sorry!)'. Frank was wearing one which said - 'MARRIED (sorry!)'. Howard didn't own a plain t-shirt but had assured his brothers that he did not need one and would stay with them for safety. "Bit paranoid of you," Lister commented.

"Safety first."

"Yeah, good idea coz that transsexual over there is giving Frank the eye."

"What transsexual?"

"Over there, by the Judy Garland poster."

"That's a transsexual? Wow, good op! I honestly couldn't tell." Frank edged closer to the bar and ordered another round. Rimmer soon came skulking back and thrust his wallet into Lister's hand. "Don't look at me like that, it's not as if _I'll_ be using it."

"Come on man, you've got to have a bit of a tipple."

"I can't afford it with you guzzling away all night. I should tell the barkeep to just pour it directly into your mouth from the spout."

"That wouldn't be very hygienic." Lister bought Rimmer a beer and forced it into his hand. Rimmer sipped at it, reluctantly. "So Dave," said Frank, winking at John and Howard, "how did you two meet?" Rimmer shook his head at Lister but could tell from the manic expression and wide eyes that Lister was already spinning a fantastic tale in his mind, and there was no stopping him when he was in storyteller mode.

"I had just landed on Miranda and I'd had a bad time from the very start. Me taxi business had gone bust, I had no money, no home, no love. Then one night, when I thought life wasn't worth living anymore, I saw a figure walking towards me through the night smog. Is this an angel I see before me? I said. No, t'was a man. A man like no other. Our passion was instant. He was amazing. I tell yer, the things he does with a small aubergine..."

Rimmer groaned into the bottom of his empty glass and ordered a whiskey.

"Anyway, 'David,' he said to me on his last night on Miranda, 'I can't bear to leave a flower like you in this cultural swamp. Come with me and stay forever in my arms on the Red Dwarf. I don't have much money, oh but if I did, I'd buy us a place where we both could live.' I said yes right away and we've bin inseparable ever since." They all stared at him for a while. Rimmer patted Lister's shoulder, and turned to his brothers. "He's just a little drunk. That's _sort_ of how it happened."

"Oh come on man, don't sell yerself short. Tell them about our trip to Ann Summers, when we bought you those tights with the-" Rimmer threw the whiskey down his throat, clapped his hand over Lister's mouth and dragged him away.

***

"CAN'T YOU LEARN TO SHUT UP!" Rimmer shrieked at Lister in the toilets. Lister dunked his head into the sink and ran the cold tap over his head. Rimmer continued, "You're loving this aren't you? You're humiliating me for your own amusement. You think this is funny? I don't! Look at me when I'm shouting at you."

"Rrrrglub," Lister gargled in the water, "wrugh thb prrbglm?"

"What?"

"I said, 'Rimmer, what's the problem?' I'm building you up. I said you were a great shag, you should be happy about that."

"Yes, but all that other stuff?"

"Just ambience. What d'ya want me to say? What's your idea of how we met?"

"I don't know. Maybe that we caught each other's eye at a party, I bought you a drink, we got to talking and just hit it off. Something _simple_. "

Lister shook his wet hair, flicking water at the wall. "You have no imagination."

"Yes, well, I'm not about to argue with a man drying his hair under a hand drier. Now we're going back out there to execute the plan. _You_ are to calm down and leave the relationship tales to me." The subdued Lister shrugged unhappily. "Come on, cheer up. I'll buy you another drink if you behave." Lister was out of the door before Rimmer could even reach for his money.

***

Frank glanced over at the group of men eying him and Howard up. "Where's John? I want to leave."

"He just went to the toilet. He'll be back in a minute." Howard frowned at them, hoping that they would get the hint. One strolled over and Frank shrank back against the bar. "Haylo, I am Eduardo. Can I buy you drink?"

"Sorry, we're full-on gay," Howard mumbled. Eduardo apologised and wandered away. Frank blinked at Howard. "What just happened there?"

"I know his type. There's just something about straight men that turns his kind on. They get off on converting," he explained.

"Oddly enough, that makes sense. Argh! John, don't sneak up on me like that!"

John released Frank's shoulder and smiled secretly. "I know something you don't know! Wanna know? I just heard Bonehead and Dave talking in the loo. They are lying." John did a small jig similar to the touch-up shuffle but with more arm movements. Frank and Howard gaped at him. Howard was the first to speak. "So, they're not gay?"

"Well, I couldn't work that out. But it sounds as though they're not together. Bonehead was telling him off for making up stories about how they met and shit." 

"Sssh! Here they come," Frank hissed.

Lister fell onto the bar. "Omega! Another round for all of us. Arnie's buying."

"It's 'amigo' and says who? I'm only buying you a drink."

"That's not very nice bruv," John said, tucking Rimmer's head under his arm for a friendly strangle. "Y'know, the word on the gay grapevine is that Dave isn't really your boyfriend." Rimmer stopped struggling. "In fact," John continued, "I think, for some twisted reason, you're just pretending to be gay. What do you have to say to that, Arnie?" Rimmer wrestled out of John's headlock and stared at his brothers.

He had to make a decision. Which was worse; his brothers thinking he was gay, or thinking that he was pretending to be gay. Rimmer had never been good at decisions. To that very day he wished he'd joined the school basketball team instead of the rugby team. His height would have been an advantage and he wouldn't have been used as the ball. But it was too late for that. There was no changing the past. He had to concentrate on the now. "I am gay," he found himself saying.

"Prove it," said Howard.

"I know all the lyrics to 'Cabaret'."

"That's not what I meant. Kiss your boyfriend."

"Er, Howie," Frank muttered. Howard whispered to them not to worry. "If he's straight he won't do it."

"But what if..."

"Come on," said John, ignoring Frank. "If you two are so in love, then a snog shouldn't exactly put you out." Rimmer gulped at the sight of their smug grins. He didn't even want to know what Lister's expression was. He needn't have worried. Lister had them fixed with an eerily benign look.

He downed his pint and wiped his face. "What the smeg is your problem? Yer can't leave Arnie alone for five minutes, can ya? It's not that we're gay, it's that we're together and happy and you can't stand it." Rimmer felt like kissing Lister just for the hell of it after that speech. Lister put his hat on and wound his arm around Rimmer's body. "C'mon, babe, we're leaving. Adjoo, smegheads."

***

Rimmer danced back and forth across the road, paying no heed to the blasts of car horns as they hurtled around him. "You beauty!" he sang. Lister chuckled and staggered along, holding himself upright by scraping his shoulder against the wall. "Seriously Lister, thank you. No one has ever done anything like that for me."

"Well you did buy me 170 dollarpounds worth of booze. That red wine at the last place was delicious. But now I'm a class traitor for going into a wine bar."

"Lister, not buying underpants from Tesco would make you a class traitor. I have never felt so free in all my life! I'm going to walk on that wall over there!" Rimmer ran past Lister and leapt up onto the five-foot wall. "Lister, if I fall I bequeath to you my golf clubs, which you broke."

"Thanks man." Lister crawled into a nearby bus-stop for a rest.

"You all right?" said Rimmer, banging on the glass. "Remember I told you not to vomit on my shirt."

"I'm not going to throw up. I'm just a bit sleepy."

"We're almost home." Rimmer tugged at his arm to no avail. "OK, we'll rest here." Lister looked at Rimmer and he felt thankful that he was an only child. Brothers like Rimmer's weren't worth all the torment and hassle.

"Y'know, my foster parents couldn't afford to vacation much, so we were nearly always home during breaks. Then dad died when I was six, and mum definitely couldn't afford it. So, I always wanted some brothers. Or sisters. Just someone to play with when me mates went on their holiday. But those three, man. You poor sod. Funny. I really liked them at first."

"Everyone loves my brothers. And then they meet me and wonder why my parents bothered with another kid."

Lister moved his hand over Rimmer's and squeezed it reassuringly. "Well, I think you're the best one. Fourth time lucky, eh? And I'll twat anyone who says otherwise."

"Lister, you're very drunk, and you don't know what you're saying. But thanks."

Lister waved their hands at him, "So much for the no-touching rule."

"And we nearly had to break the no-kissing rule as well. Smeg! They really expected us to do that?"

"Yeah man. What would they have done if we _were_ gay?" Their faces edged closer together. An owl hooted in the distance and Rimmer snapped out of the trance Lister's kind face had held him in. He stole his hand back and the cool night air tickled his clammy palm. "We should get to bed. To er, to sleep, I mean."

"Yeah, it's getting late even for me. And we've got to break up tomorrow."

"Oh yes, I forgot about that. Let's get back and plan what to say." Rimmer pulled Lister up from the ground and together they wandered back home.


	6. The Twist

Rimmer wished he could sleep. He'd never felt so good. He had just been taught how to sneak up the stairs without waking his parents. Lister had only been there two days and already he knew where all the squeaky floorboards were. But Rimmer's brothers had no idea, and were scolded for the noise they made when they came in at 4am. Mrs Rimmer was still reprimanding them when he and Lister got in at 5am; John and Frank were pleading drunken insanity. He was finally the golden child. Him, Rimmer!

Lister seemed to be some kind of lucky charm for him. It was a shame to break up. But it was all already planned out. A bit of shouting from the bedroom, a full-scale argument on the stairs and it would end with Lister storming out of the door. 'Perfick'. Rimmer was still giddy with excitement at the coming performance. He hadn't acted since school, when he was chosen to play the lead in 'Grease'. Sadly, due to it being an all-boy's school, he was Sandy. He still had the skin-tight trousers and red heels. 

Rimmer was wishing again that he could go to sleep when he heard a loud creak outside his door. He crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb the drooling Lister and peeked around the side of the door. It was Howard. He was staring wildly up and down the hall. He did not know about the squeaky floorboard just outside of the bathroom door on the left side and had trodden on it. "Howard?" said Rimmer. Howard jumped in fright and smacked his elbow against the wall. "Arnold?" he hissed in pain and rubbed his bruised arm.   
"What are you doing here, sneaking around at six in the morning?"

"Oh well, I was..."

"Howie!" A man Rimmer recognised strolled out of Howard's room. "Eduardo is sorry, yes? But I am needing to go to work soon. I call you later."

As Eduardo went down the stairs Rimmer's mouth hung loose for a second and then the corners of his lips crept upwards in a wide grin of disbelief. "Eduardo?! Oh this is too perfect. Wait until John and Frank hear about this one." Rimmer's elation was short-lived. He looked up at Howard's staring, frightened eyes. They begged for lenience. For mercy.

Why should I, Rimmer thought and blocked out the midget Lister chorus in the back of his mind that was chanting about brotherly love. Howard grabbed his pyjamas. "Arnie, please. I could lose everything. It's all right for you. You had nothing to lose and now you have a boyfriend who loves you. But if my friends found out they'd never speak to me again. I'd lose everything - everything. I mean it's just a one-off. Well, no there was that time on Ganymede... But I like women, honest!"

"I don't know Howard: this is a real gem. I could write a best-seller on this moment alone. Why should I do you any favours after all the shit you've put me through?"

"Well for one thing, mum and dad still don't know that you're not a Rear Admiral Lieutenant General. How many times have you failed your exams - 10?"

Rimmer smiled evilly and rubbed his hands, chuckling, "This is far more juicy."

"All right, I promise to stop it all. And I promise to stop John and Frank too. I'll get rid of the snake in your clothes hamper and don't brush your teeth - the toothpaste is really glue and there's an electric wire in the toilet. I'll go take it out."

"You haven't done anything to Lister have you?"

"Dave? No, we like him."

"Typical," Rimmer sighed.

Howard wearily smiled at Rimmer, emanating gratitude. "I really appreciate this. I'm a bit jealous to be honest. I can't believe you had the guts to bring Dave here."

"Neither can I." Rimmer felt a little disturbed by the morning's revelations and made his excuses to go back to bed. Lister was wide awake when Rimmer flopped into bed. "Where'd you go?" asked Lister.  
"My brother is bisexual."

Lister rolled over and stared at Rimmer. "Say that again."

"It's fantastic irony, isn't it? I find out he's bisexual and my conscience kicks in. All I could hear in the back of my head was 'don't be a smeg and let him tell in his own time' in a Scouse accent. So it's your fault I lost the opportunity to ruin Howard's life." Rimmer took a breath. "Still, it feels kind if nice to do the right thing."

"Smegging hell, Rimmer, even I'd have told!"

"WHAT?" Rimmer grabbed Lister's shirt.

"No, no, good for you though. It makes you a bigger man." Lister croaked as Rimmer's hand tightened the shirt's neck. Rimmer supposed he was right. And at least he had some ammunition for the future. Rimmer wondered why he'd never realised before. Why none of them had. Howard was a typical bloke it seemed. He was just like John and Frank. He liked sport, hung around with swooning girls, drank beer. Rimmer wished stereotypes were more accurate.

***

It was barely three hours later when Rimmer awoke to the sound of his family rousing for breakfast. He hadn't had anywhere near enough sleep, but he supposed that he could catch a quick snooze on the shuttle back to the Red Dwarf, where normality would resume and he would be him, Lister would be Lister and they would be separate beings once more. In a small, itsy-witsy way, Rimmer had hoped that perhaps Lister would be his friend for real. But he had seen the kind of blokes Lister hung around with, and none of them would like him. And he could hardly expect Lister to alternate between them. No; Rimmer would go back to spending his nights studying in his room, doomed to solitude for another 30 years. He could ease his heartache by ripping the piss out of Lister at least.

He eased out of bed, careful not to disturb the slobbering Lister and found the moment too familiar.

Ah! - Howard! His face split into a grin. How on Io would Howard explain to John and Frank that he suddenly wanted to be nice to his little brother? Rimmer could imagine him squirming under their confused glares. To tell the truth would be unthinkable. The grin stayed on him right up until the moment he tripped over his father's wheelchair in the hallway as he headed toward the scent of hot food. "Sir! Didn't see you there, sir. I'll do one hundred push-ups to earn your forgiveness, sir."

"Oh don't be stupid. Fifty is plenty. It's you I've come to see actually."

"Really sir? Thank you sir. What for, if you don't mind me asking, sir?"

Mr Rimmer pulled the brake off of his wheel and made a 180 degree turn into his study. "I've got something to give you, Amos." Mr Rimmer wheeled himself over to the other side of the room and patted an old chest. "This is my priceless, Javanese camphor-wood chest. I know you've had your eye on it. I want you to have it."

"What? Really?"

"You can put all your junk in it. Those little soldiers of yours and what-not. I won't be needing it much longer."

A horrid thought struck Rimmer. "You're not... you're not going to try and kill yourself again, are you?"

"Pfah! Don't be stupid, Ajax. We're moving to a smaller house now that all you boys are jetting off on your own. I mean, you're nearly thirty. You can't live with us forever. We can't keep a six-bedroom house at our age. No point. We just need three bedrooms now - one for me, one for your mother, and one for Magical Trevor."

"So you're really giving it to me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what to say..."

"You're not going to cry are you?"

Rimmer blinked his eyes several times and managed to utter, "No," through his sniffles.

Mr Rimmer sighed and patted the chest again, tracing his trembling fingers over the detailed carvings. "You know, Alison, it's not every day that a man finds out his son is a great big woolly-woofter. I blame myself you know. Never should have let you prance around in your mother's dresses when you were twelve."

"I don't remember that!"

"Well no, the hypnotherapy took care of that. Anyway, go ahead and take it with you. G'luck on your next mission, Rear Admiral Lieutenant General Aled Rimmer."

***

"Smegging hell!" Lister watched from the bed as Rimmer heaved the large chest into the room. "What're you doing?"

"I need you to help me carry it down the stairs."

"Well... why didn't you bring _me_ to _it_?"

"...Bugger, I never thought of that." Rimmer slumped onto the bed. "I can't move it anymore. It weighs a ton. A ton on Saturn." Lister went over to admire it. It looked very expensive. Far too expensive to drag around a non-carpeted hallway. "Where'd you get it?"

"Father just gave it to me. He said it was part of the will anyway, and he didn't need it, so I could have it in advance. Are you ready for breakfast yet?"

"Hang on. Just putting on me socks. That was nice of him. Wonder what's in this thing."

"It's padlocked and the demented old man didn't give me a key." 

CRACK, CLANG, THUNK. 

"LISTER!!!"

"What? I finally found a use for your golf club."

"That is a priceless... oh, what's the point?" he groaned as Lister took one last fatal swing at the lock. The chest swung open and fell back spilling out its contents onto what little floor there was between it and the wall. "Rimmer..."

"What?"

"I love your father, and I want to have his babies!"

"What?!" Rimmer scrambled over the chest and looked at what lay at Lister's feet. Over thirty bottles of whiskey.

"Smegging hell, these are older than me!"

"And me," said Rimmer, blowing away the dust from one. "He probably bought these back when John was a baby." Lister whistled through his teeth at the liquor. His alcohol problems were solved. For a few months anyway.


	7. Food for Thought

Mrs Rimmer had no idea why her son's boyfriend had requested grated onion on his cornflakes. And as for the milkshake... putrid. It seemed, to her at least, that he had the dietary requirements of a pregnant goat. She considered his sexuality, and concluded that he was probably used to swallowing far worse. Howard slunk into the room and sat down for breakfast.

"Howard? When did you get in last night? I never even heard you." Howard stuffed a mouthful of porridge into his gob and politely pointed at his mouth, indicating why he was silent.

"Well, hurry up and swallow. Arnold, what are you laughing at?" 

"Nothing, mother. Just a sudden case of immature thoughts," Rimmer cackled from the doorway. "Good morning, Howie."

"Morning, Mrs Rim," Lister said, bounding past Rimmer to his meal. "Brill! Just how I like it. Delia Smith's got nothing on you, Mrs Rim. Pass the ketchup, Arnie." Rimmer threw the bottle at him, smiling at Howard, who still hadn't managed to get the porridge down. He was giving Rimmer one of those looks that could not only kill, but evaporate the body and soul entirely. "Where are John and Frank?"

"They've been grounded for their naughtiness last night."

"Mother, John is 40 years old. You can't ground him!"

"Oh can't I? It's all I can do now that you boys are too big to put over my knee."

"Not if Uncle Frank's website is to be believed," Rimmer murmured. 

"If those two aren't careful they'll lose their share of the inheritance. Your father's given you yours hasn't he, Howard? Arnold?" They both nodded. Mrs Rimmer went off to give the condemned brothers their food, leaving the ‘Boys From the Dwarf’ and Howard alone. His porridge finally made its way down his oesophagus. "What are you looking at?" Lister shrugged at him, nibbling at a slice of toast. "Well, you're both looking at something."

"We're looking at something in your hair, which looks suspiciously like-"

"WHAT?!" Howard leapt up, grabbing his head.

"Man, I can't believe you fell for that one," Lister chortled, aiming a hi-five at Rimmer. "Nice one, babe."

"Well, it was your joke, old love."

"I can't believe you told Dave! There's no point in you keeping this secret if you're just going to tease me. God I preferred you miserable and alone, Arnold. I wish we _had_ done something to you, Dave. You're a bad influence on him. I can't wait for the day you two break up."

"I'm a smegging great influence on Arnie. He was like a Chihuahua on Speed when he first got here - all jumpy and scared. Now he's as relaxed as a kitten on a cushy chair."

Howard looked over at Rimmer and with an air of triumph stated that he looked about as relaxed as a gothic in New Look. Lister poked him in the arm. "Yo, Arnie? Rimmer? You all right?" He stared ahead, nodding his head slowly. "What's wrong wi' yer?"

"Arnold dear, you've buttered that scone three times," Mrs Rimmer sighed, coming back with the sullen John and Frank. "They've been let out for good behaviour," she explained.

"By that she means we didn't throw up on the carpet."

"Not on the carpet, no. Actually, John I think I should warn you: don't put on your Fedora." Frank shrugged sheepishly at him. Rimmer put down his utterly buttered scone and shoved them aside as he ran out of the room. They all looked expectantly at his boyfriend. Lister exhaled angrily, glanced at his crunchy cereal longingly, and trudged out of the room and up the stairs, his mind in a flurry of confusion at Rimmer's actions and from his own post-drunkenness.

***

Howard was right, and Rimmer couldn't believe it. Since he had met Lister, he had brought him nothing but trouble and abuse. And yet, Lister had been better for him in the few days he had known him, than nearly thirty years of trouble and abuse from his own family. He was agitated by everything he did, but felt kind of safe. Lister would never let anything really bad happen to him. Not on purpose at least. Somehow, when it seemed Lister was leading him into a bad situation, he wriggled them out of it.

It was pure bloody luck.

Luck and smarminess.

Luck and smarminess and the sheer gall to be knocking on Rimmer's bedroom door when he was deep in thought.

"Go away, Lister."

"What's wrong? We're supposed to be fighting on the landing by now. The shuttle leaves in a couple of hours. Security always takes ages, especially as I look dodgy. You're not leaving much of a window for it."

"Fine, come in."

Lister wedged through the doorway and around the chest. "You know my breakfast is going soggy don't you?" Silence. "I can't stand soggy flakes." More silence. "Summit wrong?"

"What would you say if, and I'm just throwing this idea into the air, I wanted to not break up." Lister looked at him sideways, and his reply has been edited to keep this a T-rated story. "Calm down, I don't mean we should actually go out with each other, idiot. It's just that I don't want to be alone - er, I mean I don't want _them_ to think I'm alone again. No one will know, just my family."

"Oh yeah Rimmer, just your family. And everyone at the bingo where Mrs Rim goes and in the Space Corps. where your brothers all work and at the cricket pitch where your father streaks. Hardly anyone at all!"

"I don't want anyone on the Red Dwarf to find out either. You think I like this lie? Well I don't Lister, but this is the first time I've ever been accepted by them. I don't know why. I don't know if they wanted me to be, or expected me to be gay but they're finally being civil around me. I haven't had my pants yanked up my arse by John even once this weekend."

"He's probably afraid you'd enjoy it," smirked Lister, though Rimmer failed to see the funny side.

Lister had no idea what to think. Pretend to go out with a bloke? Pretend to go out with Rimmer? What if he met a really great girl on the Dwarf with a pinball smile? He could hardly say, "Oh actually, I forgot that it's my anniversary tonight. My bunkmate and I have been acting gay for a year now. How time flies when you're in space cleaning soup machines!" But then he looked at that 'whippet on a RSPCA advert' face and felt he couldn't say no. But what else could he say? "Rimmer, I'd love to help you out. But how long d'ya expect to keep this up for?"

"Just until I find a girlfriend. Or until my parents die. Whichever comes first."

"You should tell the truth, Rimmer."

"This was your idea!"

"I said to lie for the weekend only!"

"You know what?" Rimmer snapped. "You're right. We'll break up as planned. Now mother can go around saying 'What _man_ would be daft enough to go out with Arnold!'." Rimmer stormed out. Lister looked at Mr Rimmer's camphor-wood chest for a moment and marched out after him.

***

"What are you all doing?"

"Sssh!" Mrs Rimmer shushed her husband as she pressed against the living room door beneath her sons, desperately trying to catch the heated argument in the hallway. "Arnold and David are fighting."

"Who?"

"Arnold, our youngest son, and his lover David."

"Who?"

"For smeg's sake dad!" Frank snapped, pushing Howard and John out of the way to get a better listen. John wheeled Mr Rimmer over to their gathering. "You remember Arnie, don't you? The slimy one."

"Oh God, him... Wait, he's gay? Since when?" Mr Rimmer fondled his moustache trying to take this new information in. "Bloody hell - what will he use the chest I gave him for? I can't bear to think about the sordid objects he would keep in there!"

"Well, nothing of Dave's from the sound of it. I think they're breaking up," John said.

Mr Rimmer gave them all a blank look. "Who's breaking up?"

Patiently, Howard moved Mr Rimmer back to the other side of the room and deposited him into a chair where he sat and waved his beer bottle in frustration. "Thank you dear," said Mrs Rimmer, "perhaps now we can hear what's going on." She pushed open the door slightly. 

"What's going on, mum?" Frank asked, not really wanting to know the answer. It had gone awfully silent. She clicked her tongue. "Well..."

"What?"

"They're..."


	8. Bad Touch

The fight had begun very well. Motivated by their renewed disliking for one another, they had performed with gusto. Frustrations were expended with words, disappointment was masked by profanities. Lines were hammed, gestures were exaggerated, exclamations were exclaimed. And then it got to the finale:

"As soon as we get back I'm getting a transfer to another room with a new bunkmate. A cool bunkmate who hates organ music and lampposts and RISK. And as soon as the Red Dwarf docks on Earth I'm leaving and I hope I never see you again," Lister yelled and reached for the door knob. And then it hit Rimmer. Hit him like 'Spotty' Cohen in fifth year when Rimmer told Spotty's girlfriend that he wet himself on Father Christmas's lap once. 

"Wait..." 

Lister's hand hovered over the handle. What was Rimmer doing? It was going perfectly. This was just how he wanted it. Wasn't it? Lister's head raced. He'd changed his mind. That's what had happened. He'd changed it back and he wanted them to stay together. Rimmer's hand took his away from the door. "What the smeg are you doing?" Lister whispered.

"I've changed my mind again."

"I guessed that. I meant about the rules, smeghead," he waved their hands at him. "No touching of any kind, remember?"

"The rules can smeg off to Pluto," he said. Mrs Rimmer saw what happened next.

***

"Seriously? Right in the hallway?"

"I'm telling you Frank, they're kissing. They're at it like 13-year-olds before third period Design and Technology class. I feel quite faint. Get my smelling salts. No, actually, some Port." She sat in Mr Rimmer's wheelchair and downed it like a vodka shot.

John shook his head, sadly. "Honestly, it's disgusting. A man of his age snogging a bloke in his parents' home. Still, at least they're not shagging, right Howard?"

"Er, yeah. That'd be really... bad."

"John, don't! Howard has gone pale at just the thought of it."

"I didn't want to believe it," said Frank, pouring his mother another Port and then one for himself. "But it's true. He's a raving queer. I hope it's not catching. Janine would be most upset if I went home a poof."

"Stop it!" Mrs Rimmer barked at him. "It's not like being around whoopsies makes you gay. If one walks up to you and offers you a drink it's not like you invite them home and drop your trousers. Howard dear, that's a nasty cough you have there. Go take some lemon drink from the medicine cabinet."

"I told you," Mr Rimmer yelled from his wicker chair in the corner. "I told you not to let him watch 1980's cartoons as a child. A normal boy would have watched modern shows with cowboys and dinosaurs and space heroes and bad guys with dumb sidekicks. What did he watch, hm? Bloody He-man. A muscular man called Adam that wore fur and swung a sword about."

"Let's not play the blame game here. And anyway you were the one who bought Viagra from peddlers off the street nine months before his birth. Who knows what chemicals were in them?"

"STOP IT BOTH OF YOU!" John screamed. "It doesn't matter how or why. For the love of St. Mike, can't you just concentrate on the matter at hand? Which is - how can I get my coat and leave with those two making a Picasso with their lips out there?"

"What two?"

"Oh bloody hell, dad..."

***

Rimmer released Lister from his oral prison and asked breathlessly, "Are they looking?"

"What?" replied the dazed Lister, not entirely sure what had just happened. 

"Are they looking? They're in the dining room, I just know it. I saw a sliver of light on the floor from the doorway." Lister looked down at the floor and followed the ray towards the dining room door which strangely at that moment slammed shut. So they had been watching after all. And Rimmer had taken his acting skills to the limit. "You mean you... because... ah..."

"Why did you think I did that?" Rimmer broke their embrace and scuttled backwards, knocking over a vase in embarrassment. "The whole point of this was to do it when they were watching."

"Oh, no don't worry man. Of course that's why. Ignore me. I'm still a bit pissed from last night."

"Oh," breathed Rimmer, relieved. "Wait, so why did you...?"

"Just playing along, y'know? When in Rome."

"Oh. Right," said the sceptical Rimmer. "So... was I any good?"

"Oh come off it! You can't ask me that."

Rimmer sighed sorrowfully, "Translation: I was crap."

"No, you were good. Not that I have any blokes to compare you with. You could use your tongue a bit more," Lister suggested.

"Ah see, I never know what to do with my tongue."

"I could show you later. Well, you know. Explain. Verbally. Not... y'know. Unless you'd find a demonstration easier."

"Oh, well either way is fine. Erm, thanks very much." Rimmer admired Lister's subtlety. Lister had changed his mind as well.


	9. Epilogue

"Arnold!" Mrs Rimmer wound the phone cable around her finger and redialled the public phone number. Alas, she was restricted by the analogue's feeble capabilities. Call her old-fashioned, but she just couldn't be dealing with those newfangled video contraptions. The amount of times she'd leapt out of the bath to answer one with nothing to cover her modesty except a shower puff.

She barely managed a "Hello?" before the phone cut her off for a third time. "How am I supposed to scold him, when I can't get through?" she demanded. The thin air offered no solution, so she tried again. "Arnold? Good, good, I hear you. Slightly crackly but that can't be helped. Now where did you say you were?"

"Fiji, mother."

"And why are you in Fiji, when you're supposed to be on the Red Dwarf? What will your crew think?"

"Not much, I should think. I, er, don't have a crew."

"What?!"

"Hold on, this line is very bad." Rimmer dropped the receiver into the water that was lapping at his feet. Some fish began to nibble at it. He kicked it against a rock a few times, rubbed it against a palm tree and shouted, "It's Chris Tarrant the Third here on 'Who wants to be a millionaire'! Moshi-moshi, watashi wa sugoi neko desu. Squeeeee," into it.

Satisfied that his mother would think she had channelled into a line in Kansai, he hung up and waded back to his inflatable dinghy. He nestled back against the rubber lining and opened up his book, 'Fiji and You', and prepared for an afternoon of relaxation, which would no doubt be shortly ruined by Lister, if he knew him as well as he thought he did.

"You told them?"

Rimmer closed his book and looked at his watch. "Five seconds. Not bad, Dave."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I told her I wasn't a Rear Admiral Lieutenant General. Stop bobbing up and down like that - you're making me nauseous."

"I'm swimming in the sea, dingbat. Of course I'm going to bob. So you really told her?"

"Sort of."

"What did she say?" Lister queried urgently.

"What."

"I said, what did she say?"

"No, what. That's what she said."

"Oh. Then what happened?"

"I pretended to be Chris Tarrant, said something in Japanese and then went 'Squeeeee'." Rimmer buried his face into his book.

Lister raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "Squee?"

"No, squeeeee. Don't look at me like that. I know I'm as spineless as that jellyfish by your leg."

"WHAT?" Lister scrambled into the boat, almost pulling Rimmer and 'Fiji and You' into the water.

"You utter nancy. I was lying. C'mon, let's row back home, if the rickety old shack hasn't been swept away by the tide."

"Home?" Lister grinned. "We've only been here a week and you're already calling our place 'home'."

Rimmer threw an oar at him and said, "Anywhere with you is home. And if you dare tell anyone I said something so soppy..." Lister nodded in mock compliance and decided to wait until Rimmer was in a better mood before mentioning the stray cat he'd picked up outside of Ferera's Cocktail Bar.

***

Mrs Rimmer stared at the phone as it poured out its dead tone. Disconnected _again_? She might have to do the unthinkable - go to Earth herself and drag her son's lover over a field of razors and lemon juice until he apologised for leading her baby astray. "What happened, Eliza?" Mr Rimmer wheeled himself in, still drowsy from his afternoon nap.

"My name isn't Eliza, dear. I'm afraid that the telephone has gone to the big red phone box in the sky. All I caught was Chris Tarrant, some Japanese man telling someone that they had an amazing pussy and then a guinea pig or something went 'squeeeee'."

"Squee?"

"No, squeeeee. I'm totally baffled by that boy sometimes. He leaves his job and goes to live on some remote little island on Earth, of all places, and from what that Todhunter fellow told me, he's become a... a fisherman. Fishing isn't a job! It's a hobby for men who can't do real sports. I blame that David. Persuading him to move to Fiji. Oh, if Arnold wasn't my blood type, I'd disown him completely. But you never know when you might need an organ."

"Well, we've still got the other three to be proud of: Jim, Ferguson and Merlin the Happy Pig. "

"Yes. My golden, blue-eyed boys. Practically perfect in every way."

"Just like that English nanny, Louise Woodward." 

"Mary Poppins. I wonder how the boys are doing. Frank's gone off on another honeymoon with Janine to make up for their little spat and he hasn't called."

"Would you ring _your_ mother while honeymooning?"

Mrs Rimmer carried on in her maudlin idiom, "At least Howard had the decency to stay with us for a few days longer. Though I don't much like that new friend he's picked up - Eduardo. What on Io do they do in his room all day? It's beyond me!"

"Jeff is back at work isn't he?"

"Yes. They're all leaving me now. I almost hoped that Arnold would stay a back-alley squit forever. But now he actually has a life, I have nothing to do. I'm an ex-mother."  
"Maybe," Mr Rimmer chuckled, "but you're still a wife, with wifely duties, if you know what I mean." Wink.

Mrs Rimmer shook her head wearily and explained slowly, "Darling, you've been impotent since 2150. I'm more likely to get a night of passion from a cup of hot cocoa."

"Mmm, cocoa. I'll have one if you're making it." Mr Rimmer rolled away into the living room for a bit of television and left Mrs Rimmer alone in the echoing hallway. She stood, looking outrageously small against the fine Matisse painting hanging on the wall and the double-door entrance, and the sound of Mr Rimmer's wheels squeaking against the varnished wood floor reverberated around. It was just her and him for the rest of their lives. No more young lads tugging at her dress for attention, begging for sweets, asking to be taken out to fun places, wanting to play. Mrs Rimmer came to a conclusion.

"That's it. I'm getting a dog."

***

_So are they together-together or just together? It's up to you to decide bwahahaha!!!_  
 _Well, I would like to say that I was drunk when I wrote this, but sadly this all comes from my un-intoxicated normal mind. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this fanfiction. May my ego be stroked forever more._  
 _Also, I recommend re-reading this fanfic and playing Hunt the Hint. I didn't want to throw the 'Howard thing' in from out of nowhere so I left a few clues to the revelation. Gotta spot 'em all!™_  
 _Interesting facts;_  
 _I was reading a lot of Spike Milligan when I wrote this. I think a lot of him filtered onto the keyboard_  
 _Mr. Rimmer was based on the characters of King Richard IV from 'The Black Adder' and Captain Redbeard Rum from 'Blackadder 2'_  
 _Mrs Rimmer was based on my own mother. I am convinced that deep down she'd love to be a whore, but feels that she must keep up appearances. Aunt June is also my mother. If anyone is ill she will describe in horrific detail to everyone and anyone the symptoms and pains_  
I tried to make all of the titles songs that are to do with homosexuality (either gay bands, songs about gays or from fan music videos featuring gay couples) but I ran out of ideas  
 _Rimmer's bedroom was based on my own. I was always squished into the smallest room of the house. I once had a room so small that a bed wouldn't fit into it, so my father had to build one. I still sleep with my legs tucked against my body_  
 _The hat universe idea was stolen, I confess, from 'Monty Python's The Meaning Of Life', and I completely believe their theory that people are too easily distrac- ooh a blinking cursor!_  
 _Weird Al Yankovic IS a lyrical genius_  
 _Eduardo is based on Mr. Weed from 'Family Guy'_  
 _A shrimp's heart is in its head_  
 _I buy underpants from Tesco. Yay, I'm working-class!_  
 _'The Twist' was originally titled 'Lady in Red', based on the idea that Rimmer played Sandy in 'Grease', but only the shoes were red, so sadly not red enough_  
 _Everyone loves Magical Trevor. If you do not love Magical Trevor I suggest you go see him now at Weebl’s stuff and start loving him_  
 _I love the original 'He-man'. 'She-ra' was crap. The only girly thing I watched as a kid was 'Jem and the Holograms'. Misfits rule!_  
 _What Rimmer actually says in Japanese is "Hello, I am great cat." But it's not like anyone would know!_  
 _Merlin the Happy Pig is stolen from Blackadder 2 as well. I'm a bit of a fan if you can't tell - Chris Barrie with a French accent and tight trousers = dribble_  
 _I am so going to hell for the Louise Woodward remark_  
 _I wrote two versions of the ending: one where they get together and one where it is not clear_  
 _For those of you who actually read all these, here's a bunny =:o3_


End file.
